The great man arrived attended by Gallagher, and was shown directly to the patient's room. There was a confused moment of introduction; then Milbanke and Clodagh slipped quietly into the passage, leaving the doctors and nurse to their work. During a long interval of indescribable suspense Molyneaux made his examination. Then, without a word, he and Gallagher emerged from the room and descended solemnly into the dining-room. While this final conference lasted Clodagh--who had returned to her vigil immediately the doctors had left the sick-room--sat silent and motionless beside the bed; outside in the corridor, Mrs. Asshlin wandered to and fro, weakly tearful and agitated, while Nance stood beside her father's door, afraid to enter and yet reluctant to remain outside. Downstairs in the hall, Milbanke paced up and down in nervous perturbation, awaiting his summons to the conclave. At last the door opened, and Gallagher looked out. "Mr. Milbanke," he said, "Doctor Molyneaux would like to see you." With a little start of agitation Milbanke went forward. In the dining-room a great peat fire was burning as usual, lighting up the faces of Asshlin's ancestors; but the candles in the silver sconces were unlighted and the window curtains had not been drawn. In the dull light from the three long windows the large, placid face of Molyneaux looked preternaturally long and solemn. Milbanke felt his heart sink. In formal silence the great man rose and motioned him forward, and the three sat down at the centre table. "Mr. Milbanke," he began in slow and unctuous tones, "I suppose you would like me to come to the point with as little delay as possible? Professional details will not interest you." Milbanke nodded mechanically. Molyneaux hesitated, studying his well-kept hands; then he looked up with the decorous reserve proper to the occasion. "I regret to inform you, Mr. Milbanke," he said softly, "that my visit is of little--I might say of no--avail. Doctor--er--Gallagher's diagnosis of the case is satisfactory--perfectly satisfactory. Beyond mitigating his sufferings, I fear we can do nothing for our poor friend." "Nothing!" Milbanke felt a sudden dryness in his throat. Molyneaux shook his head with becoming gravity. "Nothing, Mr. Milbanke. The injuries to the ribs and hip we might have coped with, but the seat of the trouble lies deeper. The internal----" But Milbanke held up his hand. "I beg you to give me no details," he said weakly. "This--this is a great shock to me." He covered his face with his hands and sat silent for a few seconds. Molyneaux tapped lightly upon the table with his finger-tips. "It was merely that your mind might be fully satisfied, Mr. Milbanke----" he said a trifle pompously. Milbanke started. "Forgive me! I understand--I fully understand. It is only the thought of what lies before us--the thought of his children's grief----" Molyneaux made a gracious gesture of comprehension.